


When We Meet Again

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: FitzSimmons AUs [8]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Mild Sexual Content, Reunion, Trauma, World War II, aos smut week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: 1945. War is over. While people are celebrating on the street, Jemma feels nothing but exhaustion and sadness. Since she stopped receiving letters from her boyfriend Fitz, she's sure he's dead. Still, when there's a train announced which is about to bring surviving soldiers home, she goes there too. At the railway station, a surprise is waiting for her. (Written for AOS Smut Week Day Four)





	When We Meet Again

It’s 1945. The war is over.

England is shattered. It has deep wounds and some of them will never heal.

People are celebrating on the streets. Music, parades, cheering. Jemma doesn’t feel like celebrating. She wonders where they find the strength to laugh, dance and hug each other now. Jemma feels worn out. The war has sucked every spark of energy out of her. Left her empty and tired. The world is grey, and the future is a blurry concept without contours. What does life mean now? Now, that the war is over, Jemma feels like she is a very small boat, floating on an endless ocean of uncertainty. Things would be easier, if Fitz was there. A sharp pain rushes through her, whenever she thinks of him.

Fitz. Leo Fitz.

They had been best friends, until they weren’t. Until Fitz kissed her under a starry night sky. It felt so right back then when he did it. Like pieces solving a puzzle. The world was simpler back than. Today, Jemma is not sure if it was the worst moment to confess their love or the best, because at least they knew they were loved. Deeply loved.

  
They said goodbye three years ago. It was winter and snowing. Such a beautiful night. That it would end with her being alone and Fitz going somewhere where people were killing each other, felt so surreal. Almost like a bad dream. But there was no waking up. Not this time. 

Fitz looked good in his uniform, there was no denying it. But when Jemma saw him in it, she felt the sudden violent urge to burn it.

Fitz told her he wouldn’t be somewhere at the frontlines, because they knew his value. He was intelligent and talented with his hands. They wanted him to build and repair stuff for them. Jemma didn’t feel as much relieve as Fitz showed about this . She was sure there were still enough ways for him to be involved in shootings and bombings and what else humans decided to bring upon each other in these dark times.

“Are you scared?” She asked him, when they were standing side by side in the snow, watching the stars above them.

Fitz’s answer came quick. “Yes. Of course. Who isn’t afraid of going into a warzone is an idiot.” He looked at her and smiled. The smile was weak, and his eyes were filled with a deep sadness, reflecting Jemma’s own emotions.

God, she didn’t want to let him go …

“Please be careful,” Jemma said softly, hugging him and laying her forehead against his, inhaling his familiar scent as deeply as possible. “Please promise you won’t do anything risky on purpose. This isn’t a war for heros.”

Fitz stroked her back and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.” He didn’t tell her he would come back. And she didn’t ask him to. Instead, they made love to each other like it was their last night on earth. And somehow, it was.

She watched him go. Watched him enter the train that could very well bring him to his own death. He waved goodbye and mouthed “I love you”. Jemma was frozen. She stood there, snowflakes whirling around her, and stared after the train when it wasn’t visible anymore. She was so cold … Something inside her told her they would never see each other again.

Maybe, the hopeful part of her whispered, maybe this war is over faster than you think. Maybe it’s over in a few weeks. In a month. Or at least only in a year.

But the war went on and the longer it raged, it became more brutal.

Air raids became mundane. Often enough, Jemma was woken up in the middle of the night by the horrendous sound of the sirens, announcing another wave of destruction and death. She tumbled to the shelter with her medical bag clutched to her chest.

Jemma has offered her help for the treatment of the wounded. She wasn’t technically a doctor, but thanks to her studies, she had experience and the doctor was happy about any kind of help.

Jemma will never forget the things she saw after the last bombs fell and the German planes turned around to return home, preparing for another round.

She has seen people buried under debris, faces ashen, eyes open and unseeing. She has seen and treated horrible wounds. People were dying under her hands, whimpering and begging to see their loved ones one more time. But in most cases their loved ones were far away, fighting or dying as well.

“I will see him soon enough,” a woman whispered, while Jemma tried to stop the bleeding coming from her stomach, where she had been impaled by a piece of metal. “I will see him soon enough …” She died just moments later, with an almost serene expression on her dusty face. Jemma felt nothing but a deep sadness.

So many people were dying. Either at home or in a strange country. They showed pictures of the battles in the cinema. Jemma only went there once. After just a few minutes she felt sick and left the cinema in a hurry, vomiting on the street.

So many people … So many young men. So many broken futures.

For all that Jemma knows, Fitz could be dead as well.

He has been allowed to come home twice. But his visits were short and sad. They were filled with the knowing of losing each other again. They spent every second together. They were clinging to each other in the night desperately. She didn’t want to let him go, always scared it could be the last time she saw him.

They wrote letters to each other. His arrived in a battered state, sometimes the paper was crumpled, obviously got wet, and she has to decipher every letter. But at least, every arriving letter told her he was still alive. Every letter made her cry in relieve. Fitz wrote that he wasn’t involved in any fighting, that he was mostly repairing trucks and planes. Though, he told her the war was omnipresent. Comrades were returning to the base in a horrendous state, missing limbs or eyes. Some died and some were missing. The only thing Jemma was caring for, was that Fitz was fine. She folded every single on of his letters neatly and put them into a little box under her bed. When she felt lonely, she read them again. And again. Until she knew his words by heart. 

Then the letters stopped.

At first, she told herself something went wrong and his letters couldn’t be delivered. So she just wrote three more. Nothing came back. Nothing … There was no sign of Fitz.

“Maybe, he’s just too busy. Or maybe they aren’t allowed to send letters where they are,” Jemma told Bobbi, her best friend, frantically when they met for tea. Bobbi nodded but looked at Jemma with something like pity in her eyes. She didn’t know where her husband Lance Hunter was, as well. And when she hugged Jemma firmly, Jemma started to realize the bitter truth.

He’s gone.

Jemma despaired. She broke down, barely able to function. She cried herself to sleep, clutching one of Fitz’s jumpers to her chest. Every day, it hurt more to think of him. She’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with Fitz. She’d wanted to build a family with him. Her heart shattered into thousand pieces. And even though she slowly started to accept it, started to accept that life would go on – would always go on – it never stopped hurting. 

And no matter what, a little hint of hope existing inside her heart refused to fade away. It’s still burning. A tiny, but persistent flame.

So when she heard of the arrival of a train which would bring some of the surviving soldiers home, Jemma decided spontaneously, to go there.

Now, she’s standing on the railway station, pulling her scarf tighter around her as a sharp cold breeze blows rustling leaves through the air. She is surrounded by crying women. There is so much unspoken hope in the air, Jemma almost feels like it’s suffocating her. This was a bad idea, she tells herself, as the pain inside her heart reaches a new high. I shouldn’t be here. There’s nothing here for me. Nothing but more pain …

Still, she stays.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Jemma catches sight of the train. It rattles into the station slowly. It’s moving like a hurt animal, Jemma thinks. She sees people inside, moving shadows, hands against the blurry windows. The women around Jemma move forward already, hands pressed against their chests. Jemma stays where she is. A silent watcher who expects nothing.

The train huffs hoarsely and stands still, coughing out white thick smoke.

The doors open and the first soldiers step out, blinking into the sun. Their uniforms seem to have lost colour. They are almost grey. The men’s faces look hollow. Their skin is like paper. They are ghosts, Jemma thinks. Ghosts from a world she and the other women can’t even imagine.

Jemma flinches when she hears the first screams. Women are running, their tears flying behind them. Jemma blinks, stands and watches, as people are hugging, crying happy tears and sobbing. She watches as a soldier lifts a little child into the air, his white face lighting up. She watches as some women look around but find no one, as they wordlessly sink on their knees, clutching their chests.

Jemma watches.

She notices a soldier who stands a bit aside in the fading smoke, with his back to her. He looks lonely. And like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His little black suitcase stands beside him, as he stares into the void, his shoulders slumped.

Jemma blinks. Something about this soldier … Something about how he’s standing there, is reminding her of … “Fitz?” She hears herself breathe and suddenly notices she made a few steps towards him. Like something was pushing her into his direction. But it can’t be … It can’t be him. He’s gone.

She almost backs away again, tears gathering in her eyes, when he turns around. And her heart falters. Her breath stops. Oh. Oh God.

The tears blur her sight, but she sees enough of his face, of his unruly curls, to know it’s him. It’s him.

“Fitz,” she says shakily, unable to move.

Is this a dream? Is he a ghost? Is he …

“Fitz …”

The ghost gasps. He says her name and the voice makes her shudder. “Jemma?”

Time stands still as they stare at each other. The noises around them fade away. Jemma breathes in. Breathes out.

“Jemma,” Fitz repeats. Soft and disbelieving.

And Jemma sobs. And runs. And ends up crying against Fitz’s chest. They are on the ground. Fitz has an arm around her, whispering her name again and again.

Jemma doesn’t know how much time passes, until she calms down and can look at him. He smiles and she knows this smile. Knows him. This is real. He’s here. She starts to see the details and puts them together. He looks older in a way she can’t quite describe. Maybe it’s because he’s so skinny. His cheekbones are more pronounced. There’s a new scar right over his eye and another one on his nose. His eyes flick over her face as well. His blue ocean eyes she dreamt of for so long …

“You’re okay,” he says quietly, as if he has to reassure himself, his hand cupping her face gently. “You’re … You _are_ okay, right?”

Jemma cry-laughs. “Yes. Oh yes. I’m okay. I’m … I’m so glad you’re here. I thought …” She doesn’t end the sentence. But Fitz looks at her like he knows, his smile faltering momentarily. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, his thumb stroking the skin under her ear. “I’m so, so sorry, Jemma. Things got complicated. They … We couldn’t write letters. I wanted to. I’m so sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s alright, Fitz. It’s …” She touches his right shoulder and he hisses. Jemma frowns. She looks at his arms and her eyes widen. She just now discovers the quite dirty bandages wrapped around his right arm, and how he holds it awkwardly to his chest.

“Your arm,” she says, biting her lip.

Fitz tries to smile. But it looks more like a grimace. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh Fitz. Did someone take a look at it?”

He nods. “Yes. It’s broken. But it will heal.”

Jemma chews on her lip. She’s not satisfied with the sloppy way Fitz’s arm was bandaged. She really wants to take a look at it herself. “Come on,” she nudges him softly. “Let’s go to my place.”

“Yes,” he gets up slowly, like an old man. Jemma notices again, how thin he is. His dirty uniform looks baggy on him. “When did you have something proper to eat the last time?” She asks him.

Fitz laughs. It doesn’t sound amused. Rather bitter. “Don’t know.”

Jemma’s stomach aches. “Come on.” She locks arms with him and leads him away, through the group of crying people who found each other. She still feels like she’s dreaming. And for the first time in a long while, she hopes that if this is a dream, it won’t end.

* * *

After Jemma changed his bandages and took a short look at his arm, which is already healing to her relieve, Fitz stands in Jemma’s living room awkwardly. He looks on his feet while she goes to make him a sandwich. She figures he must feel out of place. It must be strange for him, to be back after all this time. Day by day, he had to think about the war. About surviving. Now, that’s gone. Jemma asks herself if he feels the same, she did, when it was over. A little lost.

When Jemma joins him in the living room, putting the plate with the sandwich on the table, Fitz fumbles with the buttons of his uniform. “I want to … to get rid of this,” he says quietly, a shadow flicking over his face.

Jemma nods understandingly. She watches, while Fitz opens his suitcase and reaches for a shirt. Before he starts to undress though, he throws a nervous glance at her and bites his lip. Oh. Jemma’s stomach drops when she realizes Fitz doesn’t want to do this in front of her. She leaves the room and goes to the bathroom. For a moment, she braces herself on the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. She looks sad. She is sad. This war … It has taken so much from them. What did Fitz see? What did he have to do? How much of it will torture him in his dreams?

After a while, she goes back to Fitz.

He hasn't touched the sandwich yet. He’s standing in front of the window, his arms crossed over his chest. It looks like he’s hugging himself. He’s staring outside, but his eyes aren’t really moving. It seems like he’s in his own head.

When she enters the room and makes a noise, he flinches and turns to look at her. He clears his throat and makes a vague gesture towards the city outside. To the rows of ruins, the heaps of rubbles. “Did … did you have a lot of air raids?”

Jemma nods carefully. “I was lucky that no bomb fell on this house.”

Fitz nods slowly. “I have to make sure my mother is okay,” he murmurs.

“Of course. Fitz. Aren’t you hungry?” Jemma says gently and points at the sandwich. Fitz follows her gesture and swallows. He shakes his head. “No, I … I don’t think I can eat right now.” He shivers and looks at her, his eyes wide.

What are you thinking? Jemma wants to ask. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything.

Their breaths are heavy. Loud in the otherwise silent room.

They stare at each other. Fitz clenches and unclenches his hands. Jemma chews on her lip.

What now? She asks herself. What are we going to do? Are we still us? Are we still as close as before? Do we still want to be?

So many questions.

Fitz makes a noise in the back of his throat. He stares at her, his gaze getting somehow desperate. It seems like he's figthing a battle with himself. And the next moment, he’s moving. He comes to stand in front of her, hesitating for a second, but then pulling her close, his hands clutching her tightly. “Jemma,” he breathes hoarsely. And kisses her.

Jemma sighs into Fitz’s mouth and kisses him back. Something inside her screams in relieved happiness. She lays her hands on his back, feeling the reality of him.

Fitz kisses her like he’s starving. His hands start to move, stroking her back, her sides. Jemma feels his skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress.

She loses herself in his touches. For so long she has dreamt about him. Sometime, somehow, they end up in the bedroom. Jemma is pushed on the bed and Fitz comes to hover over her, staring down at her face. His gaze is hazy, distant. He continues kissing her as hungry as before. His hand lays on her stomach and slowly, timidly, moves up to cup one of her breasts. Jemma’s breath hitches. She feels heat pooling in her belly.

Fitz backs away and looks at her with a question in her eyes. “Jemma,” he whispers.

She kisses the top of his nose and nods. “Yes. Yes, Fitz. Please.”

_Please make me forget the world outside. Make me forget the time that passed between our last goodbye and this. Make me forget the pain and heartbreak and sadness. Make me forget …_

Fitz makes a desperate noise and kisses her throat. Like on a secret signal, they start to undress each other. Jemma pulls Fitz’s shirt over his head, minding his hurt arm. He gets rid of his trousers and her dress quickly, throwing everything on the floor, where it ends in a crumpled heap. Jemma sighs in relieve when they are naked, when their skin connects. Warm. Everything’s warm and Fitz. His smell is so familiar … It’s like he has never been gone.

But he has been gone. The new scars she can feel on his skin tell her. The new sharpness of his hip bones tells her. The skin is stretching over his bones and oh, he’s so thin.

They are moving quick and with intent. It's the heat of the moment. There’s no need, no urge, to wait. What they want, what they need, is connection. They have been separated for so long, have thought to never see each other again too often - they need to feel each other’s presence, as real as it’s possible.

Jemma gasps when Fitz presses into her, her eyes fluttering shut. But she forces them to stay open. She needs to see. Needs to see Fitz watching her, needs to see the pleasure on his face. His mouth is slightly open and he whispers her name when he starts to move his hips. It sounds like a prayer on his lips. “Jemma. Oh Jemma …”

Jemma wraps her arms around him. He’s inside and around her. She wishes, it would never end. Wishes they could stay like this. Close and connected in their pleasure.

But she can already feel the end. Her toes curl into the bedsheets and her spine tingles in the premonition of orgasm. Fitz moves faster, almost losing his rhythm. He’s sweating, supporting himself on his unhurt arm. He can’t touch her, but he doesn’t have to. Each thrust is sending her closer to bliss. Still, she reaches down to rub her clit, fingers bumping against Fitz’s erection once. He moans and kisses her throat, breathing her name into her skin.

The feeling sends her over the edge, and she shudders, her body arching and her pussy tightening around Fitz, who loses all rhythm and thrusts only two, three times before he comes as well, crying out.

They lie beside each other afterwards. Fitz’s arm is wrapped around Jemma. He clings to her as if she was a life raft and he was lost on an ocean. “I missed you,” he says hoarsely. “Every day. Every second. I thought …” He doesn’t end the sentence. But she knows. Oh. She knows. Because she has felt the same. Jemma just nods and kisses his chin.

She feels sleepy. For the first time for years, she will fall asleep with Fitz laying beside her. And she will wake up, his face the first thing she sees in the morning. The thought makes her incredibly happy.

Fitz falls asleep a few moments later and she watches him for a while, wondering about how fortunate they are. Bobbi’s husband still didn’t return. A lot of men will never return. But her Fitz is here. It’s like they got a second chance.

She falls asleep with her head on his chest, listening to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

  
The war doesn’t simply disappear.

It’s still there. Lingering in the background, like a mischievous demon.

It’s Sunday and Jemma wanted to bake cake, when suddenly, someone in the house slams a door. Loudly.

Fitz, who has been trying to repair the defective lamp in the living room, cries out and ducks, throwing himself on the ground, gripping his head with both hands. He stays like this, curled into foetal position.

Jemma stares. For a moment, she’s frozen in place. But when Fitz whimpers, she feels her heart aching. She goes to him and lays a hand on his trembling back. He flinches. Jemma swallows. “Fitz,” she says softly. “Fitz, you’re safe. You … There’s nothing to fear. It was just a door. Someone slammed a door, you hear me?”

Fitz needs half an hour to calm down and uncurl. When he does, his eyes are filled with horror. But he also looks embarrassed. Jemma’s stomach clenches, when he says sorry and goes on to repair the lamp, his body tense and his face unreadable.

What did his mind tell him what it was? A bomb? A grenade? A shot out of the distance?

The next night, Fitz has a nightmare. He wakes up screaming. Jemma calms him down again and asks him, if he wants to talk about it. But Fitz says no.

It happens again, just two nights later. And the following night too.

When Jemma practically begs Fitz, to talk to her, because this won’t get better otherwise, Fitz finally relents. He also does it, she figures, because she offered to talk about her own dreams as well. She still hears the air raid sirens, hears the bombs crashing and the hurt people screaming …

Once Fitz starts talking, it seems like he can’t stop. He squeezes Jemma’s hand and talks.

“In the beginning, I was just repairing stuff, like I told you in the letters. I almost heard or saw nothing of any fighting. But … Well, someday, everything got worse. We had to move because the Germans were getting closer. And they told us, that too many soldiers died, so everyone had to be prepared to fight.

I didn’t have to shoot anyone, but I was shot at. More than once.

And I saw people dying around me. People I knew, people I eat breakfast with … They were shot or died in explosions. I saw … A grenade fell right into a group of my comrades. They … One of them survived, but he lost his leg and we knew he would die later, because we had no chance to get him the help he needed. Not out there. So we watched him dying. He cried for … for his mother and told me that it hurt. And I held his hand. No one else came to be with him in his last hours. And I didn’t want him to be alone. So I sat there and hold his hand until it was over.

There were times in which I desperately wished this was all just one horrible nightmare. But of course, I never woke up. One day, I was trying to repair a truck. Three people were with me. A … a plane came closer. One of the little ones they used to attack people randomly on the field. It began shooting and we tried to get into the roadside ditch. Everyone but me was killed. When I fell I broke my arm and I only later noticed, that a bullet grazed my shoulder and it hurt like hell, but … God, Jemma. I had so much luck. I always had so much luck. And sometimes, I laid awake at night and asked myself and the bloody universe: Why? Why me, why not the others, who were far more skilled in the field and who were good men and …” He stops, his eyes filling with tears.

“You’re a good man, too, Fitz,” Jemma says softly, stroking his arm.

But Fitz shakes his head. He stares into the void and swallows. “Jemma. I think I lost parts of myself over there,” he whispers and sounds so very scared, Jemma’s heart aches.

She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she cups his face and kisses every spot of skin she reaches.

She hopes she can somehow take away some of his pain.

They are there for each other in this and every other night. They often talk about their memories for hours. Talking makes it better. It doesn’t disappear, the nightmares don’t stop and Fitz has still panic attacks, but it gets better. They can slowly start to look into the future.

At least, they have each other, Jemma always tells herself, in moments she feels so much pain she thinks her heart is going to burst. _At least we’re here, we’re together and we can still find happiness._

_We’re alive._

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on tumblr: [ready-to-kick-some-ass](https://ready-to-kick-some-ass.tumblr.com/) :)


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